


I Won't Forget

by AngryPirateHusbands



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coping, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 09:30:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8396479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngryPirateHusbands/pseuds/AngryPirateHusbands
Summary: The sound of rain and thunder reminds Flint of how he used to read with Thomas. Yet while there are many things he remembers of him, there are things he has begun to forget. Such as the details of his face. He wonders if Miranda and Silver will too meet this inevitable end.





	

_Dark gray clouds had shadowed the skies of London for the majority of the morning. Rain fell in heavy droves against the windowpanes of the Hamilton estate, filling the otherwise silent room with a calming patter. The sound was only interrupted by the occasional rumble of thunder in the distance. While many may view such a dreary day with disdain, as far as James McGraw was concerned it was the perfect day for reading. He was seated now beside Thomas in the bed they had come to share quite often as of late. While the lord's eyes were trained on the book that lay perched on his lap, James' gaze was elsewhere. They had settled in for a day of reading but James had quickly found himself distracted. He found his own eyes traveling over the man before settling on his face. Yet, try as he might, the details of those delicate features were missing, blurred._

"-aptain? Captain..?"

The familiar voice suddenly tore Flint away from his thoughts. When he blinked again the Hamilton's estate had disappeared. And so too had Thomas, the man lost to the deep recesses of his memory that seemed to grow fainter by the day. Yet the sound of the storm outside persisted. The rain came down in torrents against the window of his cabin, thunder and lighting crashing not far behind. When Flint glanced over his shoulder Silver was seated by the window, as he usually was as of late. A concerned gaze hardened his features.  
  
"Something on your mind?" his new quartermaster asked, feigning disinterest as he returned to the novel in his lap.

"What makes you say that?"  
  
Silver hummed. "Last time I saw, you were reading. I haven't heard a single page turn in several minutes, and I know for a fact you're not that slow." Though Flint had turned his back he clearly heard the chuckle from behind him. "Also figured you hadn't dozed off. Otherwise I'd hear you snoring."

Flint offered a single scoff in response. Fingers had returned to stroke his beard as he allowed the rain outside to steady his thoughts. Or rather, let them drown. Burry them beneath the turbulent seas that separated him from the man he was before. He hadn't noticed, before now, how much he had come to forget. Though he remembered the way Thomas had made him feel, how just a glance from him could cause warmth to swell in his chest, his face was steadily becoming lost to him. Briefly he wondered if the same would eventually happen to Miranda, if he lived long enough. If her face would too become shrouded from his memory. He began to wonder about the point of longevity if everything you had once loved would eventually be reduced to nothingness. A distant memory that would only become blurry upon closer inspection.

"So..?"

Fingers moved to rub his temple as Flint sighed. Green eyes closed, if only briefly, before settling into an empty glare against his cabin door. He was about to speak some snide remark but quickly bit his tongue. After all, he had come to notice something as of late. Ever since his injury, Silver had... changed. While he wore that sickeningly sweet smile for any crew member that came to see him, spinning some story and managing a laugh just like he always did, it was an act. A laughable one at best. The moment that cabin door shut that false mask would fall to tatters. It was always obvious, at least to Flint, that the charm he wielded was just as much a weapon as it was a shield. Yet suddenly Silver began to let it falter, allowing himself to be left bare and unguarded when it was just the two of them. While Flint may have felt something akin to flattery at that fact he ignored it. Even so, it did gradually allow him to realize when something was bothering the man. Whether or not it was pain or emotional anguish he now felt, the fact that Silver was going out of his way to bait him into a conversation hinted that something was amiss. And perhaps, in this moment, he needed the distraction of companionship just as much as he did.

When Flint glanced over his shoulder once more his suspicions were only confirmed. A thin sheen of sweat clung to Silver's face and his fingers impatiently clenched and released on the folds of the blanket that covered him. The features of his face were slightly contorted with pain. Flint sighed before standing from his desk. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey only to shove it into the quartermaster's hands. "Did you clean the stump today?" he asked, avoiding Silver's question and instead posing one of his own.

"I think you already know the answer to that." Silver had already uncorked the bottle and took a generous swig.

Flint huffed in response. He grabbed the pale of water Howell had taken to leaving behind in the cabin and dragged it to Silver's feet. "May I?" he asked. Silver's expression immediately faltered. Uncertainty and fear flashed in those blue eyes, yet after a moment he finally nodded. He scooted back in the window seat to make room as Flint joined at his side. He wasn't overly surprised that the man was slipping when it came to tending to his amputation. After all if he did heed Howell's meticulous instructions, it would ruin Silver's apparent plan of pretending that it didn't exist. The man was having much more difficulty with the injury than he was letting on to the others. Then again, as he was in the throws of grief himself, he had no reason to judge him. Instead he would simply tend to the man when allowed.

Flint seated himself beside his new quartermaster and moved what was left of that mangled leg to rest propped up on his knee. Despite the care he took not to cause any undue pain, Silver's form had turned quite tense. He remained perfectly still as Flint's fingers undid the pin on his pant leg and bunched the fabric up above his knee. As he began to unwind the bandages Silver's gaze immediately shifted and he took another draught of whiskey. "So," Silver started again, swallowing deeply. "What were you thinking of?" He looked at him now with a calm and calculating gaze, the man seemingly genuinely curious.

The captain exhaled through his nose he thought. "Miranda and I always stayed in bed and read together, on days like this.." He wasn't quite sure what drove him to answer honestly. Well, partially at least. While he did spend time reading with Miranda as well, in this particular case he was referring to Thomas. But obviously he couldn't just say that. No one in this place knew of Thomas, of what the man had meant to him, and he intended to keep it that way.

"Before you became a captain, I take it?"

"Mhm." Flint had removed the bandages and let the soiled linen to fall to the floor. Stooping down he rung out a wet cloth before pressing it gingerly against the stitches. Silver immediately tensed and squirmed beneath him, a gasp leaving those lips as he tried to draw back. However, the hand Flint rested on his thigh kept him steady. "Easy," he murmured.

Silver took in a deep breath before managing a small nod. Even so, the muscles in his arms and neck remained strained. As Flint continued to wash the stump, Silver's difficulty only seemed to mount. He released an unsteady breath, his fingers almost desperate for something to clutch. Though the blue of his eyes had begun to fog from the effects of the liquor, his pupils were wide. Perhaps from the gnawing pain, or perhaps it was from something else. The fear of what had been taken from him and what that loss meant to his future.

Flint's movements stilled as those green eyes moved over the man beside him. "Do you need to grip my shoulder?" he asked, his voice low. Though an opium pipe was readily available thanks to Howell, he didn't bother raising the suggestion. They had already had their fair share of shouting matches over the subject and frankly, and he had tired of it. While he certainly didn't agree with his refusal to take the medicine, he suppose he did understand. According to Silver he was weary of seeming weak in front of them. However, Flint knew better than that; knew _him_ better than that. His concerns ran much deeper. He didn't want the vulnerability that went hand in hand with tripping through an opium haze. He didn't want to risk letting slip some part of himself he wished to keep secret.

Wordlessly Silver's hand reached out to clutch the shoulder offered to him. Flint took this as permission to continue and so he did just that. As he proceeded to clean away the blood that clung to the rather ghastly looking stitches, those fingers bore down. Flint was sure that if he wasn't wearing his leather coat those fingernails would be breaking the skin. In fact he wouldn't be surprised if bruises remained in the morning. Eventually the silence that had filled the cabin was broken as Silver reached his limit.

"Stop," Silver practically choked. When Flint ignored him he tried again. This time his fingers gripped him with purposefully painful force. "I said stop!"

"Silver.."

"No--"

"John." The use of his first name made Silver grow still almost instantly. He looked at him with eyes widened with confusion and uncertainty. Although their illicit relationship had continued to develop since the loss of the Urca, it was the first time Flint had ever called him by his given name. Even after they had begun to lay together after fucking, and groping had given way to gentle touches and lingering kisses, there was always a distinct lack of intimacy. Of familiarity. Flint brushed past the significance of it and pushed forward. "Keep asking me questions," he suggested.  
  
Silver released a trembling breath. After taking another deep swig from the bottle he laid back against the pillows with an almost audible 'huff' of defeat. Even so, Flint had decided to grant him a few moments of respite. His hands moved away from the injury, setting down the cloth, and instead rested on his good leg. After a few moments Silver seemed to calm and closed his eyes. He swallowed. "What did you do before piracy?" he asked, taking the captain's advice and continuing their conversation as a distraction.

Flint shook his head. "Ask something else."

Silver sighed. The rise and fall of his chest had begun to slow to a steady rhythm as his stump went untouched, the pain beginning to settle. "What do you like to read?"  
  
Flint hummed softly as he considered the question. "Anything of substance, really.." he murmured. "The Odyssey, Don Quixote, The Divine Comedy... What about you?"

Silver simply shook his head. Though his eyes were closed, his brows remained furrowed from the lingering pain. After a few moments he finally answered. "Actually don't much care for reading," he admitted softly, a tongue reaching out to wet his lips. "Only doing it now to keep from going insane..." He managed a slight chuckle then. "Not too sure if it's working."  
  
A slight smirk pulled at the corner of Flint's mouth despite himself. Carefully he removed Silver's injured leg from his knee and rested it atop one of the pillows instead. Eyes opened to watch as he moved across the cabin to pull a thick volume from the bookcase. When he returned he handed the quartermaster his copy of _The Iliad_. When Silver cast him a curious look the man shrugged. "A book filled with insane men," he explained simply. "If anything, you'll have some company."

Silver stared at him before slowly shaking his head. Though his features gave no hint of it there was a touch of amusement in his eyes. Or perhaps that was just the whiskey taking effect. "So you do have a sense of humor," he noted carefully.

Flint only smirked. "Keep drinking," he suggested. "Or read. I need to finish this up." He gestured to the bare stump. Silver visibly tensed but nodded nonetheless. This time when he went back to cleaning the wound, Silver remained still. It seemed the liquor had finally begun to weigh heavily in his limbs and cloud his mind with a calming fog. Once the stitches were cleaned from blood the bucket of water was a dingy red. Just as Howell had showed him he spread a salve generously over the stump before winding it up with fresh bandages. Though the process took several minutes he didn't much mind. He wanted to be thorough, after all.

By the time Flint had finished up and returned the excess supplies, Silver was fast asleep. An arm hung over the edge of the window seat and _The Iliad_ lay partially open on his chest. Before he knew what he was doing, Flint found himself watching the man for several moments as he slept. He saw the way his chest rose and fell in gentle breaths. How any evidence of pain had disappeared from his expression, giving way to the delicate features he had grown to appreciate. He looked almost peaceful. As if the lower portion of his leg was still intact and none of the events at Charlestown had ever happened. Then again, as Flint lifted the whiskey bottle from his loosened grasp to see that it had been drained empty, he figured it wasn't peace at all. He was simply passed out drunk. However, he supposed the two were similar enough...

Flint collected the book from his lap and set both down on the floor. Again those green eyes returned to Silver's face. His lips were slightly parted as he drew in slow, steady breaths, his eyelashes resting lightly against his cheeks. Despite himself, Flint reached down to stroke a thumb over his lower lip. He wondered vaguely if he could ever forget this man. If, by some stroke of horrid fate he was ripped from his life just as Thomas and Miranda had been, if he would eventually forget the features of his face. The details that persisted in the dark and lulled him to sleep almost every night. As he bent down to press his lips to his forehead in a firm kiss, he hoped that he would never know.


End file.
